


who's the adult here?

by bstarship



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Arc Reactor Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Peter Parker is Trying His Best, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, and tony needs peter's help to not blow up the city, but like the big guy, if you kids will stop bickering maybe the world won't end, it's two am, the stark tower "guy"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: “If two of the smartest guys in New York can’t outwit a six-year-old reactor,” Tony mumbles, shaking his head, “then we might as well be pancakes.”Peter feels like this might just be his last day on earth, and Tony feels it too. The compliments are like a kid trying cotton candy for the first time—it’s good, kind of, but it doesn’t really make sense. “I can’t wait to tell my journal all of the compliments you’ve given me tonight,” Peter comments with a smile. “It’s gonna love this.”Half of Tony’s body is inside the control panel when he speaks. “Back in my day, we used to have therapists,” he says, although his voice is muffled by the metal.“Can’t afford one.”Tony reaches blindly for a pair of pliers, but instead of handing them over like a nice person would do, Peter watches in amusement. “If you wanted one so badly, all you gotta do is ask, Pete.”Peter shrugs even though Tony isn’t watching. “No thanks,” he tells his mentor, “I don’t really wanna talk to Bruce Banner about my personal issues.”orPeter has to help Tony fix the arc reactor under the former Avengers tower, and they just can't seem to stop talking despite their approaching imminent doom.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 10
Kudos: 207





	who's the adult here?

It’s two in the morning when Peter gets a phone call from Tony.

He doesn’t really mind. Sometimes Tony does this. Sometimes he calls Peter with a brand new idea forming through strewn words, one too in-depth to send over text, and his excitement is palpable. If Peter isn’t there to answer, a voicemail comes through. But he wishes he wasn’t hearing it through a two-minute recording on his phone. He wishes he could be there with his mentor as his breakthrough overwhelms him, but, in a way, Peter has this unsettling feeling whenever Tony leaves a message. It’s not bad—it’s not supposed to be. It makes him feel wanted.

His messages from Tony pile up like Peter’s do in Happy’s mailbox.

Peter awakes by the second-to-last ring, and before he can read the caller ID, his wallpaper fills the screen. A notification pops up indicating one missed call from Tony Stark. With a sigh, Peter turns over in bed and decides to call him back later in the morning. Once he settles comfortably on his pillow, his phone vibrates again.

This time, Peter reaches for it instinctively and answers.

“Hey, kid, glad I caught you—you busy?” the man asks. He sounds a bit rushed as he speaks, and there’s a loud clang that follows his voice. Peter wonders if he’s making a new suit. “I could use your help with something.”

Peter sits up, rubbing an eye with his thumb as he checks the time. “Mister Stark, it’s two in the morning,” he says, a bit groggily although he hasn’t slept a wink since he got home from patrolling only hours prior.

“Oh, shit,” Tony mutters. “Did I wake ya?”

Peter wishes he could say yes. “No.”

“Oh, good.” Tony lets out a breath.

There’s another clang, and Peter thinks the sound is kind of calming.

But then there are more sounds. Sounds of crumbling and cracking, falling around his ears like remnants of that old warehouse in Brooklyn. He’s alone. He’s so alone, and he can’t feel his legs. Water trickles around him and cement crushes his limbs. He sees blood in his reflection, red like the mask soaked in the rubble. It’s useless. He’s hopeless. He’s alone and he’s stuck, and—

_Please. Please. I’m down here! I’m down here. I’m stuck. I’m stuck. I can’t move. I can’t…_

Peter’s chest tightens. “Everything okay, Mister Stark?” He sounds sleepy, but he doesn’t feel it. If he wanted, he could burn off energy by swinging down a few blocks, but May doesn’t like it when he’s out after she’s gone to bed.

“Yeah, course,” Tony replies, chuckling the question off. “Why wouldn’t I—I mean, I’m fine.”

“Did a building fall on you?”

“No, why would a—kid, are you still having nightmares again?”

_No,_ Peter thinks, _because I can’t even sleep._ But he doesn’t say it. “No, _no_. Why’re you calling me so early? Or late. Or… _whatever_. Honestly, is everything okay?”

Tony doesn’t answer right away; meanwhile, the crumbling sounds continue. There’s an irksome shrill that accompanies it soon after. “Okay, no,” he says. “We’ve, uh—we’ve got a bit of an issue at the tower.”

“I thought you sold it.”

“Kind of have a few things to handle before it’s off my radar completely,” Tony remarks dryly, but there’s something else hidden in his tone. Worry? Fear? “How fast can you swing here?”

“Uh—fifteen minutes?” Peter rises to his feet, slinging his clothes across the room as he fumbles for his wrinkled suit that is in desperate need of dry-cleaning. He’s not quite sure how that whole thing works with all of the technology inside. Plus, he can’t just _take his suit_ to a _dry-cleaner_. It totally defeats the purpose of a secret identity.

Tony sighs. “That’s gonna have to be good enough,” he whispers to himself. “Okay. Fifteen minutes, see you—”

“Wait—” Peter places his phone between his ear and his shoulder. He has one leg in the suit and the other one caught in an arm. “Mister Stark, what’s happening? Is something breaking? I’m hearing weird noises.”

“Yeah.” Tony’s voice is quiet. “It’s the arc reactor.”

Peter freezes. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit is right.”

Peter slips his hand in the suit and taps at the emblem on his chest. The material shrinks around him. “Okay,” he says. “Be there in fifteen. Don’t let it blow up until I’m there.”

“Then we’ll both blow up.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t that be kinda cool?” Peter grabs his mask before stepping out onto the fire escape. “Like, ‘I’m so sorry about your loss—how’d he die?’ and May would be like, ‘oh, in a fiery explosion caused by the very thing that created Iron Man, that’s how. Thank you for keeping him in your thoughts’.”

“It didn’t create Iron Man,” says Tony through the phone. “It _powered_ it, but it didn’t create it. It did, however, keep me from dying. And now it’s probably going to kill me.”

Peter pulls the mask down over his head. “Yeah, but it _helped_ create Iron Man,” he tells him.

Tony lets out an annoyed huff. “Just—get here.”

“Okay, on my way,” says Peter before swinging off toward Manhattan.

He’s not tired. How could he be? He’ll never be tired when Tony Stark needs his help.

* * *

He wishes Tony Stark didn’t need his help.

When Peter sneaks into the tower, he follows the sound of high-pitched shrills and the trail of coffee-scented stress sweats. He never knew the building too well, but he’s pretty sure it never looked like this. Empty lobby and tarps draped over forgotten furniture. Jesus. Peter’s already creeped out, and he hasn’t even gone down to the sublevels yet.

The shrills are like nails on a chalkboard, and they feel like the pain of stepping on a LEGO. As Peter descends down into the bowels of the former Avengers Tower, the sounds only get louder, and he can’t imagine that it’s normal. Even for a non-superhuman—which is just a regular human, the shrills are almost unbearable. They make Peter sick to his stomach. And the nerves beneath his skin tingle. So, clearly something is wrong.

Tony is unarmored and frantically tossing tools left and right under a control box. The armor is over in a corner, but it’s powered off. Tony doesn’t even sense Peter come in. Which, to be fair, sucks for him because within the next few seconds, Peter hangs off of the ceiling and drops right into Tony’s view.

The man yelps, sliding back as he holds a hand to his chest. “Sh-shit, kid, are you fucking crazy? Get down from there! The ceiling is already crumbling, and I have no idea how long the infrastructure can last before—”

“Whoa, I’m sorry, Mister Stark,” Peter says as he steadies himself back on solid ground. He holds up his hands in defense before pulling off his mask. “I didn’t mean to—what’s going on?”

Tony sighs. He looks exhausted, both physically and mentally. Hasn’t the guy heard of a good night’s sleep? He rubs the patch of skin between his brows. “My anxiety is gonna kill me before this blasted thing does. It’s—it’s not _malfunctioning_. It’s just not working as it should. I’ve been trying to shut it off for the past four hours.”

Peter is in absolute _awe_ as he stares at the massive thing. It has to be a few hundred tons—even Peter would be crushed by it. And the light emission. _Wow_. He’s not even sure how to classify it, but he’s never seen something so scary yet beautiful before. It makes the miniature arc reactors in Tony’s suit look like homemade DnD dice.

“Don’t stand so close, kid, please,” Tony instructs, and Peter does as he’s told. After a pause, Tony continues. “The original reactor was built in the 70s, and even then, its design was not… the _greatest_ in the world. Long story short, it was never really designed to be powered down. With the help of Pepper and a lovely guy that I knew my entire life who ended up trying to kill me, I blew it up.”

Peter folds his arms and watches as the colors in the reactor dance with a pulsating rhythm. He can feel it underneath his feet, and the ceiling rains dust and tiled chunks every so often.

“It’s fusion energy,” Tony continues. “The whole layout means that there are these charged particles moving in a circle. They’re contained by a magnetic field. This way, the magnetic field can curve the motion of the high-energy particles. It keeps them in one place long enough to get them to collide. The palladium core keeps it from being a hot-fusion reactor.”

“Pd-107?”

“Hey, look at that.” Tony taps Peter on the head. “You are smart in there.”

Peter only huffs.

“And with a little bit of Pd-103, but just a dash,” the man adds. “The electrons in the outer ring do a little smash or pass with the Pd-103 ions, and _boom!_ —instant electron capture and gamma-ray emission.”

Peter blinks and steps back. “Gamma-ray?”

“You’re safe, it’s fine.”

“I’m not really convinced.”

Tony bends down to pick up his strewn tools and groans as he does so. His hand flies to his lower back. The man can’t sleep _and_ he has chronic back pain at least six days out of the week, but he still parades around in his suit and pretends like sodium doesn’t make him bloated.

“You good, Mister Stark?” Peter asks, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes.

“Yeah, all good,” Tony answers with a wave of the hand. “Anyway, back to what I was saying before your big brain interrupted me. This reactor wasn’t supposed to last more than a couple of years, but it _was_ designed to power down when necessary. We didn’t wanna repeat what happened last time. It’s not really cost-efficient, but it’s super energy-efficient. Thought the press was gonna love it but all they did was hound me for the ugly building it was stored under. Oh, and it is also one of the most highly explosive devices in the city, but only when it’s overloaded.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “That’s... comforting.”

“It used to be easy to do,” says Tony. “A little _too_ easy. You would just open up all of the circuits on the main controls, hit the master bypass button, and before you know it, there’s a big explosion that reaches the heavens. Don’t worry though, Pete, I made it harder to do. Obviously. But I still kinda fucked up.”

“How’d you—how’d you… _fuck_ … up?”

“Kid, first of all—” Tony turns to Peter with one of his _‘parent’_ looks. By this point, Peter’s not fazed all that much by them. “—swearing is okay, and secondly, you are never allowed to say that word ever again. You understand me?”

Peter nods and holds back a laugh by pressing his lips together. Meanwhile, the small tremors caused by the arc reactor are happening more often than he feels comfortable with. He’s confident the people in Grand Central are close to losing their minds.

“Besides the point,” Tony says and looks back at the reactor. “This thing has been running smoothly since 2011. No issues, nothing. Squeaky clean and proving my point that I am the smartest person in the world.”

Again, Peter stifles a laugh. Tony raises an eyebrow, and Peter swallows down the laughter. Right, big issue going on. He’s supposed to be panicking.

“But,” Tony continues, “because I’m so goddamn cocky, I can’t bypass my own fuckin’ system. I ended up overwhelming it. I don’t know if it’s gonna blow, cause a city-wide blackout, or if it’s just gonna flatten New York like a pancake.”

“Uh—is there a more peppy option?” Peter asks with a lilt in his voice. He scratches at the back of his neck. “Like, maybe it’ll spew rainbows and glitter and fill everyone’s heart with love and eternal happiness?”

Tony sighs. It’s one of those sighs that says, ‘I can’t believe I might die with this idiot’, or something along those lines. “You know, kid, you can be adorable sometimes—”

Peter nearly gasps. Adorable? Him? That’s so sweet.

“—I know, but other times, I think you might be trying too hard,” Tony says, walking back over to the controls and plopping down in front of it. He twists around to face Peter. “It’s like you know the power you have and use it to your advantage. You know—that’s manipulation.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Mister Stark, but I’m flattered,” Peter replies as he joins his mentor on the ground. He holds a hand to his chest. “Really. Thank you for the compliment.”

“The more we chit-chat, the more likely we are to become flit-flat, okay?”

Peter nods. “Yes. Right. Sorry. Why am I here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Tony asks.

“...No.”

“If two of the smartest guys in New York can’t outwit a six-year-old reactor,” Tony mumbles, shaking his head, “then we might as well be pancakes.”

Peter feels like this might just be his last day on earth, and Tony feels it too. The compliments are like a kid trying cotton candy for the first time—it’s good, kind of, but it doesn’t really make sense. “I can’t wait to tell my journal all of the compliments you’ve given me tonight,” Peter comments with a smile. “It’s gonna love this.”

Half of Tony’s body is inside the control panel when he speaks. “Back in my day, we used to have therapists,” he says, although his voice is muffled by the metal.

“Can’t afford one.”

Tony reaches blindly for a pair of pliers, but instead of handing them over like a nice person would do, Peter watches in amusement. “If you wanted one so badly, all you gotta do is ask, Pete.”

Peter shrugs even though Tony isn’t watching. “No thanks,” he tells his mentor, “I don’t really wanna talk to Bruce Banner about my personal issues.”

“Not what I meant,” Tony says, sitting back up so he could meet Peter’s eyes. “Besides, Banner voted himself off of the island like, two years ago.”

A few more tiles in the ceiling crash down onto the floor adjacent to them, and the tremors have slowly worsened as time has passed. The shrills, the goddamn _shrills_ , are so loud, Peter thinks his ears might start bleeding. Of course, he had forgotten about the sounds until he realized that they might actually be in mortal danger.

“Mister Stark, the whole basement is gonna fall apart if we don’t—”

Tony nods, muttering, “right, right—you’re right,” and dives back down beneath the panel. “You’ll meet him one day, kid, I promise.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a threat or not.”

“Well, if he’s a mean, green, smashing-machine at the time, then you might as well be a pancake,” Ton says, and Peter sends him a look. “Okay, arc reactor first, Hulk threats later.”

“Right.” Peter feels totally useless. He’s sitting there like an idiot, watching his mentor do who-knows-what beneath the controls as the arc reactor sputters and shrieks. “So, uh—God, Tony, I have no idea how this thing works.”

Tony faces Peter again, confusion written all over his features as he hums. “Huh. Tony.” His demeanor quickly changes. “Okay, what I need you to do is…”

* * *

So, Peter isn’t necessarily great at science _all of the time_. Sure, he knows he’s smart, and he’s humble about it. He can fix up computers—hell, he could even make his own if he wanted. He could outsmart all of the software developers for his favorite video game. But when it comes to an Industrial-sized arc reactor that literally inspired Iron Man and kept Tony alive for so many years, Peter is at a total loss.

He’s not entirely helpless. But he’s not helpful either, and in his own charming way, neither is Tony. The tremors have increased since Peter arrived, and both of them are running purely on anxiety and adrenaline by that point. If they can’t figure things out soon, they will be potential pancakes. And Peter doesn’t want to be a pancake. If anything, he prefers to be a waffle. They’re so much better. Not only can they hold a lot more syrup, but they also have a little extra crunch to them.

Tony is wearing the Iron Man suit now due to the rate of ceiling chunks falling from above. Peter is forced to dodge them, meanwhile, a familiar _clunk_ echoes around the space once a bit of rock and tile hits Tony in the shoulder. The sound is not as calming as Peter thought it was from the phone call earlier.

Now, yellow emergency lights flicker around his vision. Small bolts of electricity have begun to protrude from the top of the reactor, and Peter considers saying his last words.

“Shit,” Tony mutters as he darts around, pressing controls and furiously rewiring to get things to work. “It’s really doin’ it now, huh?”

“Doing—doing what?” Peter asks, and his nerves make themselves clear as he clenches his jaw.

Tony doesn’t answer right away. “Keep trying, Pete,” he says quietly, desperation in his tone. “It’s supposed to stop, it’s supposed tobe able to stop. Why isn’t it fucking stopping?”

“Should we not touch the master bypass?” Peter asks, looking at the red button that’s wobbling in his view. He can hardly stand straight without the force of the reactor’s vibrations knocking him over.

“No, cos’ I’ve already overloaded the damn thing,” Tony replies, wincing as some of the ceiling crumbles on his helmet. “If we hit the bypass now, the entirety of Midtown and lower Manhattan will get their asses fried.”

“Shit.”

“FRIDAY, how we lookin’ on slowing down particle acceleration?” Tony asks and pulls up a wide hologram showing the internals of the arc reactor. A warning sign flashes above it, and a percentage in the top left corner is climbing to a concerning level.

_“It’s not working, Boss,”_ the AI says, and even _she_ sounds panicky. _“I can’t get it to stabilize enough for it to steadily decrease. The pressure build-up is too strong.”_

Tony is quiet, and his movements have frozen. “So, you’re saying it’s done.”

“What?” Peter twists his body around completely to only face Tony. “What’s done?”

On most days, Tony is hard to read, but tonight, his expression shows complete devastation. He thinks he has failed. He _knows_ he has failed.

_“The reactor is going to keep slowly increasing in energy until—”_

“It explodes,” Tony finishes for her. Now, he appears emotionless again.

“No, no, we gotta keep trying,” Peter tells Tony. “We gotta keep trying or—or people could die, Mister Stark, we could die, and—”

A bolt of electricity darts across the ceiling above their head, causing the tile to crack and crumble even more than it already had. Rubble falls, landing in between Peter and Tony as a cloud of dust covers the room. Peter can hardly see a thing. He’s surrounded by rock, dirt, and metal, the only thing he can really see is the reactor as lightning dances above.

_Please. Please. I’m down here! I’m down here. I’m stuck. I’m—_

“Kid?” Tony calls.

“I’m here!” Peter yells back, frantically climbing around the rubble to make his way back over to his mentor. “I’m here, I’m okay.”

When Peter catches a glimpse of Tony, the man is back over at the control panel with his helmet off, and he’s tearing wires out of the system with little mercy. He stands up, presses a few buttons, and watches as part of the holographic blueprint of the reactor turns red.

“What—what’d you do?” Peter asks. His tongue is dry, and his throat is sore.

“I’m powering down the outer core,” Tony responds, and his voice is as urgent as ever. A bolt of electricity cracks to his left, but he hardly reacts. “If I can dampen the amount of—”

Another bolt lands around Tony, and for a brief moment, Peter is blinded by the light. All he can see his a metal suit flying halfway across the room and landing on a pile of the collapsed ceiling.

“Tony!” Peter shouts, running over as his heart thumps loudly in his ears.

Tony coughs. His suit is sizzling, steam and sparks pouring out of the paneling while the miniature arc reactor flickers. There’s blood covering half of his face, and the rock behind his head is covered in it, too.

“Should’ve—” Cough. “Should’ve put my helmet back on,” Tony whispers. He reaches a shaky hand up to touch the back of his head. When he pulls his arm back, his fingers are coated in blood. His eyes flutter shut. “Shit.”

“Y-you’re—you’re gonna be okay,” Peter sputters. He tries hard to keep his eyes from watering. “Don’t move. Don’t move, please. I’m gonna fix this. I’m gonna figure it out. I’m smart, remember?”

Tony smiles weakly. “You are, kid,” he breathes out. “Keep going. I’ll be fine.”

Peter stands, racing back over toward the control panel while the percentage on the hologram continues to climb. The thing should have already exploded—they shouldn’t be alive. God, he doesn’t want to die, and he _definitely_ doesn’t want Tony to die.

To make things worse, Peter doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. He hardly even knows what an arc reactor is—now he has to stop one from exploding? Tony owes him big time.

Peters fingers hover and dance above the console before he presses a few buttons below a label that reads, “Electric Arc”. Nothing happens. He presses them again, and an error message pops up on the hologram.

“It’s not letting me do anything!” Peter cries, feeling his frustration rise as he presses more of the stupid buttons.

“That’s the issue I had,” Tony replies. “It’s—It’s my fault.”

“I-I’m gonna override,” Peter says.

“What?”

“I’m gonna override to manual controls,” he says again, “that way it won’t lock me out.”

Tony doesn’t answer. The decision could be idiotic, or it could be pointless. Either way, Peter doesn’t care. He bypasses the fixed controls and is able to buy himself some time.

And then something dawns on Peter. “You said something about gamma-rays?”

“I-I did,” Tony says with a grunt.

Peter glances over his shoulder to see the man settling back down against the rubble. Dust continues to float around him, and the bolts of electricity remain the same. “What does it do?”

“It—” Tony inhales sharply. “It’s produced t-to jump-start the inner core.”

Peter whips back around and presses a few more buttons. Is he even pressing the right ones? He doesn’t know. “I’m gonna stop it.”

“Stop the radiation?”

“If it’s produced to power the inner core, then maybe if we just get rid of gamma-rays altogether, then—”

“Fuck, kid,” mutters Tony. “You’re a genius. Do it. _Do it.”_

Peter finds a way to power down the gamma-ray production quickly. Of course, he has to do a few more bypass stunts, and for a moment, he thinks he might have messed up completely, but then the numbers on the hologram start dropping. The bolts in the air minimize, and the tremors come to a slow halt.

“O-okay, now what?” Peter asks.

“Shut the bastard down.”

He smirks and pulls down on a handle, and finally, it works. The bolts of electricity disappear completely, and the shrilling finally does, too. The blue glow of the electron flux dwindles to nothing, and before Peter can register it, there’s nothing but piercing silence.

Peter is still smiling. He’s bruised, thirsty, and he thinks he might have a premature heart attack at any moment, but he did it. Tony coughs from behind him.

“Oh, shit,” Peter mumbles, rushing back over to the man who is slunk down into a pile of earth and tile while his head bleeds out onto a rock behind him. Peter’s hand hovers above the reactor in Tony’s suit. “I gotta—we gotta get you t-to a hospital or something. We gotta leave. We gotta—”

“Kid, relax,” Tony says breathily with a chuckle. A weak chuckle. “I’ve had worse.”

“You’re bleeding out,” Peter states. “You could have a concussion.”

Tony points a finger. “Okay, _yeah_ , I most def—defin—shit—definitely _do_ have a concussion. Thought I was gonna sneeze for a second there.”

“Nope,” Peter says, managing a smile. “You just have a really bad concussion.”

“Makes sense.”

Peter’s eyes meet the wound on Tony’s forehead again, and worry flashes over him.

“Pete?”

“Yeah?”

Tony smiles. “I’m really proud of ya, y’know. You did something I couldn’t do, which is, quite honestly, the best compliment one could ever receive. Go run and tell your journal that one.”

Peter laughs, but as he does so, a tear runs down his cheek.

“Hey, really, kid—” Tony presses a hand to Peter’s shoulder. “I’m fine. Honestly. I survived shrapnel to the heart. I survived literally falling out of a _wormhole_. I survived being in Tennessee for more than three hours. I can survive a little scrape on the—oh, God, I’m exhausted.” Tony closes his eyes, tilts his head to the side, and sticks his tongue out.

Peter shoves him, pleading, “c’mon, Mister Stark, don’t do that. I gotta get you help! _Jesus_. Who’s the adult here?”

Tony opens his eyes and laughs. For the weight of the moment, it’s nice to hear his genuine laugh. “Okay, okay, fine.” He glances around at the damage around them. The burnt-out shell of an arc reactor, crisped walls, and a totally demolished ceiling that now resides on the floor. “Nothing the new owners can’t handle. Hey, do you want pancakes?”

“I’m leaving you here,” Peter says as he stands.

“No, kid, wait—I can’t move. C’mon, help a guy up.”

Peter shakes his head. “Nope. Too bad. You deserve it.”

Tony cracks a grin. “Okay, I’m still bleeding out here,” he says.

“Oh, right. Sorry. Yeah, I’ll help,” Peter mutters as he moves behind Tony. He holds him beneath his shoulders and helps him to his feet. “Do you need me to carry you like a baby?”

Tony sways and falls against Peter’s side. With wide eyes and a nauseated expression on his face, he shakes his head and winces. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?” he asks a moment later.

Peter grins. “I absolutely do not promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> psa i am not good at science i had to look stuff up lol i'm not sure any of this is scientifically accurate but who cares!  
> [here's my tumblr! let's chat!](https://itsybitsyspiderling.tumblr.com/)


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